


Mucking It Up

by kblynne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Sex, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, implied dramione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kblynne/pseuds/kblynne
Summary: While on the hunt for horcruxes after Ron's abandonment, Hermione and Harry get into a heated argument, spurred by the horcrux around Harry's neck. In the heat of that moment, Hermione makes a confession to Harry that causes him to cross a line, forever changing the dynamic of their relationship.Surprise sequel to Closer, my Dramione song-fic - I couldn't help myself~~~~~“Well I’m only your best friend, the goddam chosen one, and apparently you’re the slag who sees fit to shag death eaters instead-” Harry interrupted yet again, and his face was met quite suddenly with Hermione’s open hand. The blow, the sound of which filled the tent with a heavy presence, was enough to bring some sense to the raven haired teen. “Hermione, I didn’t-” But his rage had been transferred to Hermione, who had never been so offended. Harry watched in shock as she ripped her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside.“Is this what you want, Harry?" She wrestled her way out of her jeans, having to step out of her trainers to do so. "Is this what you feel so entitled to? Your slag friend, naked and waiting in your bed at night?”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 95





	Mucking It Up

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written as a spontaneous sequel to my Dramione song-fic, Closer. This story, I think, stands alone well enough that you won't need to read Closer first to understand the context. However, I strongly recommend reading both, no matter what order.

Hermione hadn’t expected it to be so difficult, being with Harry, alone, now that Ron had left them. She and Harry had always gotten on better than she and Ron, but now that it was just the two of them, tensions were running high. It was the end of October, or maybe the beginning of November, Hermione couldn’t quite be sure. The two teens had just settled into a new location, after another close call with a small team of Snatchers. They were everywhere these days. 

She had just set the usual set of wards into place to protect their new temporary home, and Harry had, for what felt like the millionth time, erected the tent. She joined him inside, and set a fire inside the stove to warm the space. Harry was sitting at the table, pouting and picking at a splinter in the wood. Hermione, tentatively, took a seat across from him. She sat, still and quiet, for what felt like many minutes.

“We should have just killed them,” Harry spoke suddenly, startling her. Hermione stared at him with wide, worried eyes. She knew who he meant. The death eaters who’d nearly found them after Harry used the dark lord’s name. He knew it was taboo, but it was a hard habit to break. What surprised her was the venom in his voice and the darkness in what he was saying. They didn’t kill. On principle, they went out of their way to get through this war without resorting to killing. They both knew that a day would come when it would be inevitable, but today had not been that day.

“Don’t say that,” Hermione rebuked his words. “They didn’t find us. We got out in plenty of time.” Thank Merlin for the wards she’d set in place. They’d landed almost right on top of them, but like the Snatches before Ron left, they couldn’t quite locate them.

Harry ripped at a splinter of wood, which pulled a small strip away from the tabletop. “If we’d just taken care of them, we wouldn’t have had to run.” 

Hermione reached out and put her hand on top of Harry’s. She was almost surprised that he didn’t pull it away. “We don’t kill,” she reminded him softly. “We’re better than that,” she added with a bit more strength. 

“No, we don’t kill,” Harry responded mockingly, and he pulled his hand away from hers then, standing from the table. “We’re the good guys. And those evil bastards, who didn’t get us, are going to get the next unfortunate people who weren’t as quick as us.”

Hermione could all but see the rage radiating off of him like steam. It’d been a long time since she’d seen him quite this angry, and she was sure she knew exactly what the problem was. He was wearing the horcrux again. “Harry, maybe you should ta-”

“No!” Harry interrupted her suggestion. “Can’t I just be mad because I’m mad? Not because of this stupid fucking necklace?” Hermione winced at his language, so unusual coming from him. “I’m sick and tired of these death eaters thinking they’re in charge! They’re a plague. They’re all as guilty, and as evil, as the sick fuck they’re following! And I, for one, wish they were all dead.”

His speech was hard to hear, and Hermione had to guess that he’d been thinking it for a long time. She couldn’t blame him, given the last several years of his life. “They’re people, Harry.” Their numbers had grown substantial in the last few months, and she knew, in the bottom of her heart, that many who recently joined ranks did so under duress. “They have parents, and children, and friends, who they need to protect,” Hermione pleaded for him to see.

“Not this again, Hermione,” Harry replied, bored of her repeated use of this argument. She’d said these things before, and it didn’t make him feel any better. “You’re not going to get me to sympathize with death eaters, Hermione, and it offends me that you would even try.”

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, feeling like a child being reprimanded, but she remained strong. “Don’t play that card, Harry. You know as well as I do that there are people who wear the mark with more shame than pride.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at his longtime friend and trusted companion. “Please tell me you’re not talking about Malfoy again.” It drove Harry crazy that every time they talked about the Slytherin Hermione seemed to defend him.

“Harry, you said it yourself, he didn’t want to hurt Dumbledore-” Harry had had about enough of this same tired quarrel. 

“He was a coward. He didn’t have it in him to kill. Why do you think he went so far out of his way to make someone else do it for him? All those years trying to impress his father and he when it came time to walk in his footsteps he didn’t have the balls-”

It was Hermione’s turn to interrupt. “Stop it, Harry! He’s a victim of his circumstance. You don’t know the first thing about what he’s been through.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be forced into a life of war and chaos?” Harry’s emerald eyes darkened, but Hermione stood from the table, stubborn as ever and determined to make her point.

“You have a structure of family, and don’t insult me by saying that we’re not your family, and friends looking out for you. You have the whole Order fighting this battle at your side. Who does Draco have? Who does he get to confide in?”

Harry felt as though he might pull his hair out. He had no idea why Hermione felt so passionate about the subject. “Why do you even give a good god damn? What’s it to you if he’s an evil sod like the rest of them or a victim of his circumstance?” he quoted her words back to her angrily.

“Because I slept with him!” What was meant to be a declaration of defiance she immediately realized was the most idiotic statement she could have ever made. As soon as the words escaped her she clasped her hands over her mouth, as though doing so would prevent her from making any more confessions. As she watched, Harry moved quickly towards her, and Hermione took a few steps back. It was the first time in her life she’d ever felt she might be in actual danger of Harry’s wrath.

“You what?” His voice was low now, eerily calm, as though clarification for what she’d just said was now much more important than their previous conversation.

Hermione had no intention of taking it back. She knew he’d heard her, and she didn’t owe him any sort of explanation. She stood a little straighter, dropping her hands to her sides. “I had sex with Malfoy.” She watched as anger boiled inside of him, waiting for the inevitable explosion to follow.

Harry was beside himself, struggling to process such impossible information. “Why would you do such a thing?” It made no sense to him. Why would she sleep with him? Why would he sleep with her?

That was a good question, a question she’d asked herself dozens of times in the last ten months or so. “It seemed like the right thing to do in the moment.” It was the only answer she’d ever been able to come up with.

“The right thing to do,” Harry repeated back to her, stunned. “Spreading your legs for Malfoy was the right thing to do?” Hermione felt very much as though he’d just slapped her in the face, but it seemed he wasn’t finished with his assault. “So let me get this straight. You’ll shag Malfoy, and Ron, and basically anyone but me?”

“Harry, it’s not like that. You and I…” But the look on his face was dangerous. “That’s really what you think?” she asked him. She hadn’t realized he knew about that time with Ron.

“Why them? We’ve been alone for weeks and-” Hermione didn’t want to hear what he was going to say next, she was sure it’d be just as degrading as the rest of it.

“Well, you never asked!” she spat out, frustrated by the insane direction their dispute had taken. 

“I didn’t know it was an option!” Harry replied with just as much frustration.

“Well it’s not!” Hermione’s heart was hammering against her chest. She could hear the blood rushing angrily through her veins. “I don’t know what kind of girl you suddenly think I am but I-”

“Well I’m only your best friend, the goddam chosen one, and apparently you’re the slag who sees fit to shag death eaters instead-” Harry interrupted yet again, and his face was met quite suddenly with Hermione’s open hand. The blow, the sound of which filled the tent with a heavy presence, was enough to bring some sense to the raven haired teen. “Hermione, I didn’t-” But his rage had been transferred to Hermione, who had never been so offended. Harry watched in shock as she ripped her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside.

“Is this what you want, Harry?" She wrestled her way out of her jeans, having to step out of her trainers to do so. "Is this what you feel so entitled to? Your slag friend, naked and waiting in your bed at night?” Goosebumps rose on Hermione’s almost bare body. Her hardening nipples grew visible beneath her unlined satin bra. Harry had never seen so much of his friend, at least not that he’d actually taken the time to look at. She was breathtaking, and the way her chest heaved with her heavy angry breathing did not escape his notice, nor did his staring escape hers. “I’m a woman, Harry. I’m a sexual being. I’m more than of age, I can shag whomever I damn well please, and I don’t need to answer to you or anyone else about it!” 

Harry remained silent, swallowing a lump in his throat. He was gradually becoming aware of a tightening in his pants. “You’re right,” were all the words he could muster as he struggled to meet her eyes.

“So what’s it going to be?” She sounded defeated now, but she was determined to hold onto her rage, shielding her from her vulnerability in this moment. “Because I have absolutely nothing better to do.”

Harry realized that her eyes were brimming with tears, and he could see now that she was feeling just as beaten down as him. Just as tired. Just as lonely. Just as hungry for some sort of affection. He closed the distance between them, and she didn’t move away this time. “Hermione, I…” He didn’t know what to say. He looked into her honey colored eyes, and cupped his hand against her cheek. She leaned into the touch, eyes closing for a brief moment.

For nearly a whole minute the only sound between them was their collective breathing, in which time their lips drew nearer and nearer to each other’s. Both tried to think clearly but it was an impossible feat. This moment had the potential to change the very structure of a friendship seven years in the making. Was it worth it?

It was unclear which one of them made the choice. It was possible they both had at the same time, but the moment their lips met it was obvious to them that this was exactly what they needed, consequences be damned. Very quickly, the tentative kiss turned into a much more passionate, lustful snog. Hermione, for one, feared that if they let the heat from their impassioned argument fade they might lose their nerve, and this was one train she did not wish to stop in its tracks.

Harry lifted Hermione by the back of her thighs with surprising ease for someone who was both fatigued and malnourished, and she wrapped her legs around him, their mouths never parting. It was strange to touch her in such intimate places, his hands on her bare skin. He walked them to bedroom and lowered both of them onto the bottom bed of one bunk. He mourned the loss of her lips as he pulled away to pull his own sweater (along with his undershirt) off his back and toss it aside. 

Hermione laid her head against the pillow, looking up at Harry. She could feel her body shaking with anxiety, or perhaps the chill of air, more likely both. In order to keep her focus, to keep from losing her nerve, she reached for the button on his jeans, trembling fingers working the button loose and lowering the zipper. She could feel his hardness beneath his waistband, and helped to free it. Harry struggled to clumsily kick off his shoes and to wiggle out of his pants and boxers in the narrow space within the lower bunk.

He was kissing her again before he could feel insecure about his skinny naked body. He found her waist, and began to tug her floral patterned cotton knickers down her waist. She lifted her hips to accommodate and pulled her legs out of it to the best of her ability with his aid. Almost immediately she could feel his ready cock pressed against her not recently enough groomed crotch. She moaned into his mouth in order to help suppress the jitters that threatened to overcome her. Harry, appreciating the initiative, rolled his hips against her. 

Hermione moved her right leg, the one furthest from the wall, outward, opening herself to him. The irony of the act was not lost on her. She was literally spreading her legs, or at least one of them, for the benefit of yet another man. She reminded herself again that she was a sexual being, that she had nothing to be ashamed of, and no one to answer to. Her movement allowed Harry to straddle her other leg, pressing his left leg against her right to pin her in place. She broke her mouth from his with a gasp that turned into another moan. Her arms wrapped around him. She was as ready as she would ever be.

Harry put one hand between them and grasped himself, stroking his already solid length and rubbing the head along her entrance. He could feel the wetness that had begun to pool there, and spread it between her lips. He looked down at Hermione, his lopsided grin making her hold back a small laugh. It was absurd, after all, that they were about to engage in the most intimate act two people could share. He began to prod at her opening, testing her body’s willingness to take him.

She responded automatically to him, her hips rolling as she urged him to fill her. She could feel him sliding in and out, his pace agonizingly slow. “Harry, you’re not going to break me,” she assured him with a smirk. She leaned up and kissed him again, just so that he wouldn’t be burdened with the need to respond. Taking her word, Harry pushed into her more forcefully. Hermione’s lips broke from his with a gasp as his girth stretched her open. 

He leaned into her as deeply as he could, savoring the sensation of her heat enveloping every inch of him. His hips drew back and moved forward once more, and he was accepted more willingly by her body the second time, and the third, until he was moving inside of her with ease. His thrusts were harsh and quick, gasp-like grunts slipping out each time their bodies were rocked by the force of it. Harry, fed up with the locket dangling in front of him, freed one hand briefly to toss the egg-sized pendant behind his back.

Each strike of his hips earned a soft breathy moan from Hermione, increasing with volume as he continued. Her hands held his neck lightly, thumbs cradling his jawline as she drew him towards her for a kiss. Their tongues explored one another’s mouth until the building in Hermione’s core grew too intense for her to concentrate. She broke away from him with a cry of pleasure, and wrapped her arms around his back. “Oh, yes, yes!” she carried on, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within her, threatening to explode out of her.

Harry moved his mouth to her neck, peppering kisses along her throat, which vibrated with the many sounds she was making. “Mmm, Hermione,” Harry groaned in reply, smoothing his hands up her narrow middle to cup her clothed breasts. He kneaded them harshly, causing her head to fall back as she grew louder, and her walls clamped down. “Fuck,” he grunted, mostly to himself, as he tried to resist her body’s attempts to milk him. He wasn’t ready for this to be over. He had no choice but to pull out of her, replacing his cock with three rapid moving fingers as she toppled over the edge of climax.

Hermione was aware that Harry had been intimate with Ginny during their five weeks as an official couple, and probably a few times over the summer as well, but she hadn’t expected him to be so vigorous. He sent her reeling into pleasure even faster than Draco had, and she didn’t believe he was finished. Her body squirmed as his fingers assaulted her, her back arching off of the flimsy mattress as shockwaves of euphoria flowed over her. “Oh god, oh god, oh god!” she gasped quickly as it rocked her, before finally stilling beneath him, panting.

Withdrawing his sopping wet fingers, Harry rubbed his hands up and down her thighs and leaned over Hermione again, kissing her hard. He pulled her left leg up carefully, and his lips parted from hers while he pushed the backside of her knees towards her chest until her ankles rested on his shoulders. He reentered her without warning, and slowly began to build up his momentum once more.

“Shit, Harry!” Hermione cried out, not expecting for him to up the game in such a way. He’d already spoiled her significantly well. She held onto his biceps, which were usually not much to think about, but now that he was using them to hold himself over her they felt quite firm and tense under her touch. The bed was shaking now with his show of raw power. It was hard to keep from screaming as his solid cock slammed repeatedly into her barrier. It was almost painful, but mostly just intense. 

It wasn’t going to be long before Harry could no longer hold back. “Bloody hell,” he growled out both at the ecstasy of being inside of her, and at the burning pain in nearly every muscle of his body from the exertion. He pushed himself further, repositioning himself over her slightly for deeper penetration, if it was possible. Every sound she made were sounds of encouragement, and he could feel her tightening around him once more. He thanked Merlin for the protective charms surrounding their tent, or else they’d have filled the forest around them with some incredibly incriminating sounds. 

“Mione,” he moaned, nearly there now. He leaned towards her as best as he could to kiss her. Their tongues met before their lips did, dancing promiscuously while Harry’s movement became sharp. 

Hermione knew what was about to happen. She herself had just experienced a second system-shocking orgasm, and she couldn’t imagine he’d be able to last any longer. She kissed him with every bit of longing she’d ever felt, not for anyone in particular, but simply to be shagged senseless in the way her body seemed to constantly crave. She cursed that sharp tongued slytherin for opening the floodgates of desire. “Yes,” Hermione encouraged him, attempting to move her body against his underneath him. “Yes, Harry!” As she hoped, his name on her lips, cried out with such passion, seemed to be all it took to send Harry pouring out into her wanton body.

When his body finally stilled, the serpentine pendant fell to his front once more, dangling on its chain between their sweat beaded chests. Hermione couldn’t help but watch it swing there, reminding her of the argument that had led to their impromptu tryst. She mentally berated herself for rewarding his behavior, his hurtful words. Her breathing still heavy, she tried to make sense of it. “What did we just do?”

Harry, too, sobered at the sight of the locket, and moved off of Hermione, feeling rather foolish and self conscious now. He dug his boxes out of his jeans and pulled them on, at the very least. “I didn’t mean it, those things I said. You’re not a slag.” He certainly couldn’t think so after shagging her himself. “You surprised me is all.” It still made him mad to think about her and Malfoy, so he tried not to.

Hermione sat up on the bed and sought to gather her clothes, but all she found was her knickers. She’d left the rest in the living room. She blushed at the memory as she slipped them back on, herself ripping her clothes off in front of him like that. Maybe she was a slag. She certainly wasn’t innocent. “I think you should keep it off for the night,” Hermione suggested, referring, of course, to the locket. She wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to forgive him just yet.

“Prolly right,” he agreed. He pulled the chain over his head and instead hung it from a post on the top bunk. “We mucked it up, didn’t we?” he asked, and she knew he could only be referring to one thing, their friendship. Something both of them valued above nearly anything, especially these days. Neither of them had ever felt less comfortable in each other’s presence, her in his bunk in only her panties and bra, him standing awkwardly beside it, equally only in his underwear. 

“We may have,” Hermione said grimly. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. In doing so she could feel his load beginning to pool at her entrance, soaking her knickers as it leaked from her.

A long silence stretched between them, broken finally by Harry’s tentative need for validation. “It was… good, right?”

Hermione would have laughed if she didn’t think it would give him the wrong impression. She did, however, smile into her knees. “Yes, Harry. You were very good.”

Another short silence. “Better than Malfoy?”

Hermione picked up a pillow and threw it at Harry’s head, knocking his glasses onto the floor. They broke, but rather than offer to repair them, Hermione stormed out of the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> There has been talk between my writing partner and I (she did not co-write either this or Closer but she's acted as a sounding board for both) about turning this story into a series. If this is something you'd like to see happen, PLEASE let me know. Plot is still in development, and I wouldn't be opposed to hearing your ideas for such a series! Thanks for reading!


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